


Antarctica

by kitkattaylor



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-12-07 04:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18229895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkattaylor/pseuds/kitkattaylor
Summary: Dan is lost, so goes to Antarctica. Phil is already there. Maybe soulmates do meet in the same hiding place.





	1. The University Drop Out

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have other fics to finish! I'm irresponsible

If ever Dan has felt inconsequential and small, he feels it now. Sat one in a homogenous line of orange coats, his line being one of four, he peeks out from the limits of his hood. Most of his fellow passengers have their heads down so they appear like little orange mounds in their humungous, heavy coats. Some are even asleep, as if this were London and the daily commute. It's definitely not - Dan’s breath is blowing out mini clouds and he can hardly move for the heavy-duty belt across his chest. There is no just getting off and going home; the 'mind the gap' is some hundred feet drop. The outside rumbles and roars, as here Dan is, flying across the impossible underside of the globe to Antarctica.

Only weeks ago he’d been sat around his home dining table, knife and fork scraping against the plate in familiar yet awkward silence. They’d all already heard about it; everything had already been argued over (and over.) At this point it was being ignored, though it joined them at the table not like an elephant but rather like an iceberg. They moved through Christmas like acting out a play, dragging out traditions like the old, half exhausted Christmas lights. Dan felt too big in the hallway where he could stretch his arms to touch both wallpapered walls and the ceiling. He felt too big in the kitchen where his mum is now smaller, and too big in his bedroom where the bed is singular and he can remember the blue carpet stretching out like an ocean.

 

“Dan,” the woman, Denise, sighed. This was how he often heard his name. There was a little frown between her brows, which she pinched. “Why do you want to go to Antarctica?”

Dan opened his mouth but paused for too long. 

“Because your experience with cleaning is vastly insufficient."

The interview room was a small office with brown walls and a 90's phone on the desk. The technology was modern compared to the decor, which looked unchanged from the 70’s. Dan focused on the two clocks to the left of Denise's head, one above the other. There was a singular penguin stuck on the top of the tank-like computer.

_Why do you want to go to Antarctica?_

 

In November, his dad had come home with a cardboard box of fake snow. _For Christmas_ , he’d said. _Was going spare_. A younger Dan would have found this magical, would have ran to it and spent days opening and re-opening it, just in case something else appeared, or it became a portal. Just to check it was still there. His Dad made fake snow for film and television. Dan had spent half the day asleep and truthfully had only just eaten breakfast. He grunted vaguely as his dad passed him in the kitchen, moving him out of the way to access the toaster, then the fridge. He'd long stopped asking how Dan was. When he left, Dan stared at the box before ambling over to open it. He dipped his hand in and let the flakes fall back down. It wasn’t magical; nothing else would appear, his Dad hadn't been to Narnia. Dan wasn’t excited for Christmas.

Dan thinks all his cells have finally replaced those of his childhood, his childhood having stretched to nineteen years of age. He’s twenty now. He could try and reach for its distant, glowing familiarity, the feeling of freedom and excitement, but it's like putting his hand to glass.

A few days later, with the fake snow still in its box, closed, and pushed to the side, Dan sat down beside his mum to watch David Attenborough. There was a twinge of temptation to keel over and lay his head on his mum’s lap, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to get so close, didn’t want to talk about it. Sweeping views of ice and mountain filled the small square of the television. It looked like a breath constricted. Dan had a funny notion of breaking the glass and letting the cold wind blow out and the snow sprinkle the carpet.

The strange, surreal shapes of Antarctica filled his laptop later. The blue light transformed his bedroom into a cave of ice. _Runaway,_ the wind whispered. _Runaway._ The thought tickled his brain, but soon slipped down into it. Parasitic, it uncoiled and he found himself flicking from video to video, article to article. The deliriousness of his previous existence brightened with the thought of snow. The sluggish weight of his body lightened with the imaginary cold. The shop floor at work became frozen water, the customers shuffling like penguins.

 

The interviewer cleared her throat, hitching her glasses up her nose. She shuffled the papers in her hands.

“Your writing in your letter here is...beautiful.” She fixed Dan with her eyes, kind yet stern. “Really. You have a way with words. You meant everything you said?”

Dan just about remembered to nod. He’d hardly spoken since September.

She smiled briefly then dropped the papers.

“Look, I’m not going to hire you as a cleaner.” (Dan was tense, tapping his foot in thin air. He'd do anything to get there.) “But we...or at least _I_ have been arguing the benefits of establishing more of a presence on social media. We always need more funds, and more than that we want to spark interest in the impact of global warming. The youth of today is of course key in that. Now, we have a team on Twitter and the likes, but no one actually _based_ in Antarctica.”

Dan was hanging onto her every word. She regarded him for a moment, another sympathetic, faintly amused smile slipping onto her face. “ _So,_ ” she continued, voice slow as if talking to a child. “What I mean to say is I would be interested in hiring someone to be out there and blog about the experience. I think you could be a perfect candidate for that, what with your age, your looks and your talents.”

The information hit Dan rather bluntly in the chest. Denise closed her fingers together on the desk, like a cage. He suddenly felt self-conscious of his supposed ‘looks.’ He opened his mouth but she held up her hand.

“I’m making no promises, but would you be interested in that kind of role?”

He nodded frantically and choked out a ‘ _Yes.’_

“Good,” she beamed, then switched to serious again. “You would be working though. It’s not a holiday. You’ll have to do your research, and be innovative, and _committed_.” She emphasized that word. Dan cowered. “To an extent, you’d be the face of the company.”

_Yes, yes, yes._

“Well, to the ends of the earth, Dan.”

_To the ends of the earth._

He didn’t exactly know what she meant. While he waited, he went back to scanning items at the till, counting hours and minutes, and existing in quiet filled with noise. The weeks passed and it became apparent he can’t have got it. The new year loomed ahead and he dreaded it. He panicked. Unspoken thoughts lodged in his throat and his overeating turned to not being able to stomach even a slice of toast. The snow melted from his brain. He’d bang his head to the pillow but couldn’t silence himself. The ice had formed a surface to stand on, but now he was back to the sea.

And then came the email, and for a moment he could hear it: the complete and total silence.

 

He’s glad he took his selfie at the start, when he was simply amused by their gnome-like attire. Now he feels sick. The plane jolts and he’s all too aware of being trapped in a metal object hurtling through the sky. Imaginary engines start to stutter like his heart. His body of flesh and blood and bone feels insufficient and ridiculous, the lining of his being as thin as the air he’s sucking on as if through a straw.

Even at the point he’d left his mum alone at the airport, was walking to his gate, was flying 12+ hours across the earth, a heavy stone of doubt sunk inside him. He laughs to himself because from the outside this is mad. Clearly he’s running away to avoid responsibility. He’s begun to develop a David Attenborough narration in his head, and it goes: ‘ _The university drop-out panics, packs his bags, and flees to Antarctica so he can freeze to death.'_

 _Fucking Antarctica._ That’s what Dan thinks, though he doesn’t think Attenborough would swear.

They land with a terrible rattle and screech of wheels. Orange bodies come to life around him and he clumsily undoes his belt. It’s not until he steps onto the snow that it becomes real. He has to squint because nothing has ever been so bright. The land stretches into a discernible horizon, pure white meeting baby blue sky. He turns 360 degrees and looks up into the sun, which won't set for another three months.

He is so, so small.

And so, so orange. Someone bumps him so he falls into line.

Well, here we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry hate not including Phil in the first chapter/intro (he be in the second)


	2. The Quality Control Specialist

I. LIGHT

 

 _‘In this wild, frozen land,’_ Attenborough muses, ‘ _all preventatives are taken when it comes to contraception. Clothing is worn in clashing, lurid colours that repel the eye, and the layers are so thick and heavy that the effort to mate is really not worth the bother. Unnervingly, condoms are everywhere, but this lanky gay need not be concerned. If his sex life can’t be found in England, it most certainly won’t be found in Antarctica.’_

( _‘Long-limbed homosexual,_ Dan corrects, on Attenborough’s behalf.)

Dan’s being marched around the building by Vilte, a more than slightly intimidating Lithuanian woman, who walks very fast and talks even faster. She’d barrelled towards Dan at the meeting point, a startling image in her giant, bug-like goggles and green, purple, and yellow zebra-pattern coat. She’s been tasked with his introductory tour, and does so in a manner which makes Dan think she’d like to be elsewhere. Doing more important things, no doubt. She’s a scientist. (‘ _Swimming pool is over there,’_ she’d pointed in direction of the sea, then motioned to the ground. _‘Here you can sunbathe.’_ Dan laughed awkwardly and, remembering Denise’s words, assured her he wasn’t on holiday. _‘Aren’t you?’_ She’d said.)

They grind to a halt.

“Your room,” she states, arm gesturing to a non-descript pine-wood door. Everything has been introduced with flight-attendant arms: ‘ _Bathroom here, bathroom here, don’t open this door, don’t open this window, it’s broken.’_ Now she withdraws keys from her jean pocket and dangles them before Dan, her grip tight.

“Your keys. Remember: _no_ smoking, _no_ loud music, _no_ penguins. Yes?”

Dan nods, holding out both hands.

“Yes?” Vilte prompts.

“Um...Yes?”

She drops the keys suddenly. He almost misses them.

“That was...a joke, right?”

Vilte doesn’t respond, and her face doesn’t flinch. She crosses her arms over her clipboard, already stepping around him.

“No downloading large video without permission. If you want porn, you still have to ask.”

Dan can’t help the way his eyes widen and his cheeks flush.

“Is there some kind of...” He waves his hand abstractly, already regretting the question. “Stir-crazy problem? You know...all the condoms...?”

Vilte raises a singular eyebrow.

“Can’t have baby. We’re in Antarctica.”

Dan’s face burns. He laughs meekly and wants to curl up and die at Vilte’s resounding sigh.

“Dinner is at six. If you’re late, you miss the carrots. At some point you’ll get an email from Gemma regarding your meetings tomorrow.”

“Yes. I mean, okay. Thank you.”

She appears to tick something on her clipboard and Dan raises a hand to salute her. Her cold eyes flick to the motion and, unsurprisingly, she doesn’t smile. She simply turns and walks back down the narrow corridor, leaving Dan to genuinely worry that there is no further place on the planet he could run to. Space, he guesses. Chucking his bag on the frayed, dark green carpet (the walls a pale, vomit-yellow – maybe no décor in any of the Antarctic buildings have changed since the 70’s) he battles with his keys in the door before turning them around the right way. He kicks his bag inside.

_‘The university drop-out will not survive natural selection.’_

It’s not dissimilar to his dorm room.

A wooden bunk bed (same Ikea pine, same dark green sheets) is pushed against the far wall, a desk underneath and a narrow rectangular window above. There’s a tiny shelf jutting out beside the bed, just about positioned so he can stretch his phone charger (with extension) to the nearest plug. There’s a chest of six drawers – not that Dan has bought more than four tops and two jeans – and a wiggly mirror that his friend in Primary school had. The toilet and shower is basically a cubicle; it makes the toilet on the plane look luxury.

The first thing he does is brush his teeth, still in his orange coat. It helps with the self-deprecation as he stares at his sallow, exhausted face. When he does peel it off and hang it on the peg by the door, he’s clammy, and the familiar outfit beneath is a disconcerting reminder of home. (He might as well be in space.) Belatedly, he notices the cardboard box on the desk. The jet-lag in his brain thinks _snow,_ but there are no paper shreds inside, let alone the real thing; instead there is a tiny fake plant, a string of fairy lights, and a Penguin bar. Beside the box, a printed note reads ‘Welcome home!’

He stares at the note in a daze. He needs to write his first blog post. Clambering like the lumbering, lanky boy he is onto the bunk bed (thinking distantly how exciting bunk beds used to be), he sits up straight, cross-legged, and opens his laptop. The keys are cold to touch. Outside the window is a very disappointing wall, but just above it he can see Antarctica, the real thing, the endlessness of it stretching out. Turning back to the screen of his laptop is almost surreal. He wastes over half an hour planning his points and writing nothing. Flopping backwards, he closes his eyes and lets himself feel cold.

It still surprised Dan to cross from snow to sand, though he’d read about all most everything online (he’d hardly known the difference between here and the Arctic.) The base camp is a small village of industrial-looking buildings; the old variety are brown and square and on stilts, while the new builds are spaceships in colours of the Union Jack. Their garishness seems to spoil the peacefulness, to Dan. Behind them a mountain rises – small, compared to the others he knows about, but nonetheless a foreign, comforting sight to have on the horizon. Dan waddled about alone, watching without much self-awareness as others reunited with friends and jumped about in huddled groups. It isn’t very silent here. However, it is bloody cold.

Dan’s been cold before, but these are temperatures that take getting used to. If ever. A nudge of wind is piercing, making him feel as thin as a balloon. Even with the coat. The cold instantly sinks to the bones, and a hot stinging springs up on the nose and cheeks. But though at first it’s hard to breathe, the air is as pure as Dan had hoped. He imagines it washing through him, as he does so again now on his bed. Of course it’s warmer in here, but it’s still not England, and it’s not his dorm, nor his childhood bedroom.

Sitting up, Dan taps the spacebar until a blank page emerges above his messy notes. Tentatively, he goes to type, but-

Maybe he’ll nap. For now.

By quarter to seven – probably too late for carrots – Dan pokes his head out from his room. It’s as empty as before, which makes Dan wonder if this is the outcast corridor. He pushes the immature thought away, but it rears an ugly head again when he sees all the groups in the canteen. All the chatter and laughter. He picks up his meal (no queue, no carrots), and shuffles to the furthest, emptiest corner.

Someone sits down. Dan doesn’t look up. It’s more than one person – three? Dan continues to eat half-heartedly. He listens to their trays clatter, the scrapes of cutlery and china.

“Hey.” Dan’s stomach turns. “We haven’t met. I’m Claire.”

The face smiling across at him is small with odd, pointed teeth and limp brown hair. She’s clearly wearing a college hoodie, which is enough to make Dan struggle to swallow.

“Dan,” he manages.

The two other faces belong to men. One is bulky with a medium beard and ruddy cheeks, the other bony with unfortunate acne. All three wear rectangular specs and blink at him.

“Chris, and Liam,” she introduces.

 _Hello, hello,_ they say in turn. Chris smiles warmly, his eyes curious. He goes back to eating, still smiling. Dan bristles, feeling observed. Liam isn’t smiling.

“Missed the carrots, too?”

Claire is folding a napkin and straightening it alongside her tray.

“It’s all so exciting here, we lost track of time! We’re newbies. Are you on the PHD programme too?”

“Um...no.”

“Oh, the artist scheme?”

“No, again.” He huffs out a laugh as she frowns. The room is noisy and bright around him. Twisting his lips, he chooses his words. “I’m with BAS.”

“Oh?”

The boys look up again. Dan swallows. Denise had said it like that – like _base_ – meaning the British Antarctic Survey.

“But you’ve...not been before?”

Dan shakes his head instead of words. Claire nods thoughtfully. Food dangles from her fork. Dan doesn’t feel like eating anymore.

“So how’d you get that?!”

The way she exclaims makes Dan feel instantly guilty.

“It’s...a new thing?” He cringes at his language. “I’ll be doing research and, um, journalism.”

There’s silence.

“Into...promoting conservation.”

More silence. Painfully, Claire remembers her food and Dan has to wait till she’s finished her mouthful. Dan pushes his food around, pretending.

“Where’d you study?”

“...Manchester?”

His voice is almost breaking with the effort to sound casual.

“And your thesis was on conservation in Antarctica?”

He’s really, really tempted to nod.

“I studied law.”

The following silence is so, so loud, Dan thinks you could hear it from England. He watches Claire, whose now frowning again, slowly open her mouth and rushes to talk over her.

“And where’d you study?”

He pushes a smile into his cheeks. Claire answers slowly, still confused – _Cambridge, Chris went to Brunel_. They’re all doing their thesis on actual, appropriate science. Briefly, they talk about the cold. They talk about the _weather_. Dan wants to cry. And then Liam is stacking his friends’ trays and standing.

“It’s seven,” is all he says.

“We’re going to work a bit before bed,” Claire excuses softly.

“Oh, me too.” He bashes his knee as he stands and tries not to wince. “I actually have to submit my first piece tonight.”

The smile on Claire’s face has turned sympathetic. Dan glances at Liam, who is staring determinedly at the table. They walk together – in silence –to put away their trays and then pause outside the canteen. All the PHD students are in the west wing – Dan is in the east. Just before they part, Claire asks if Dan knows anyone here. What she’s inferring is obvious, and is cutting coming from her, when she’s so nice. He can barely shake Chris’ hand when it’s offered.

He plays with his keys as he walks. On his tour he’d been introduced to all variety of workers. It had comforted him to read about them at home, the people in offices, in maintenance, doing normal, non-Antarctic specific jobs. Builders, plumbers, and drivers; doctors, cooks and, of course, cleaners, the job he’d initially applied for out of sheer desperation. Not everyone had an ‘-ologist’ of some kind firmly attached to their name. But upon meeting the real people here, he’s quickly lost any sense of comfort he had. Even the shop owner who sells toilet roll and packets of crisps seems to speak a whole other language. He knows everything about Antarctica; he’s lived here for forty years. He has a doctorate. Absolutely everyone has a degree.

Dan showers for longer than he’s supposed to. His tears are still hot in Antarctica. They’re still close to the surface. His thoughts (loud, loud, _loud_ ) push against his skull and the four shower walls. The PHD students’ silence had been no different to that of his family, of his friends, or that of himself. It had been full of questions and judgement. Did he expect to be accepted here? Or failing that, remain a perfect stranger?

No- Dan hadn’t anticipated interacting with other people at all.

He breathes in quickly. The determination in his hands as they wipe away his tears surprises him. It surprises him as the desperation surprises him; the urgent, yearning knot at the centre of him that exists beneath the self-deprecating judgements he has of himself and his decision to come here. He shuts off the shower, determined (and desperate) to contain his rampant thoughts in the pipes and drain.

He’s shaking slightly as he unpacks. His head is humming. He hangs the fairy lights, displays the (fake) plant. He smooths the ‘Welcome home!’ sign beneath his fingers but doesn’t know where to put it. He leaves it where he found it. He’s moving with purpose yet numbness. Twenty minutes out the shower and he’s done, has got his orange coat on, hood up and zipped to his chin. He swings open his door and practically runs.

Of course, it’s still light. The sun won’t set here.

He doesn’t remember which doors he can and can’t open. Luckily, the first one he tries gives way and he lurches into the doorframe. Icy wind slaps into his face like a wave and he blinks with the shock.

But he’s not alone.

The man on the balcony has his hood down and the wind blowing through dark, black hair. He’s already staring at the circle of Dan’s face, his lips slightly open. Dan’s panting. They both remain still.

It’s Dan that moves first, shuffling out in his ginormous coat and squeezing into the relatively small space. His heart is racing. He hadnt really noticed he’d been panicking; it’s like he’d been submerged in water and now he’s surfaced. The stranger’s eyes are tracking him as he breathes deeply but right now he doesn’t care. Moments pass with him staring out at the emptiness, breathing until his breath is calmer. He closes his eyes for a second. Antarctica breathes with him.

Silence. Real silence.

“Did you get your Penguin bar?”

Apparently the man is still watching him. Slowly, Dan squints over at him.

“You’re new. Did you read the joke?”

Dan just stares. His eyes skate up to watch the wind as it blows through his hair. His ears and nose and lips are pink. Dan looks down and away, still deciding whether he wants to talk. (He’ll have to talk tomorrow, and he already looks weird enough.) The man is wearing pyjama bottoms. Moons and stars.

Dan pushes back his own hood. The wind shocks the back of his neck and takes possession of his hair. The man in front of him looks startled.

“I forgot they had jokes, actually. But I’m saving it.”

“For what?” The man’s eyes unstick from where they’d been observing Dan. He looks a bit bewildered.

Dan shrugs. He can see all the wide expanse of white without turning, and it comforts him. “I guess I don’t know.”

The man regards him consideringly, then sticks out his hand.

“Phil.”

Dan hesitates.

“Dan.”

Phil’s hand isn’t warm but it’s firm. Slowly, Phil smiles and his eyes sparkle. Dan braces himself for a question, but Phil doesn’t ask one. He turns to lean on the railing and Dan follows cautiously. Phil is bouncing his leg up and down. Presumably cold.

“I love the light here.”

Phil is gazing out. Dan squints in the same direction. It’s so bright he feels like he's been half awake all his life.

“You get used to it.” He’s watching Dan again. “Your body clock.”

“Don’t have one.” Dan shakes his head once. “Why do you love the light?”

“Because it’s like time stops.”

They face each other in the same second. Phil smiles so genuinely, and kindly, and curiously, that Dan’s heart keens.

“I get that,” he finds himself whispering, all too sincerely. Phil seems to be a few inches closer, or his presence just bigger. His eyes seem bigger too, full of Dan as he takes him in. Dan hopes his blush is concealed by the pinkness on his cheeks anyway. He glances away, then back, and despite himself opens up the conversation.

“What do you do here?”

“Live?” Phil answers oddly, then leans back (which confirms he’d been leaning in.) “I’m quality control. Of the Penguin puns.”

Maybe it’s been a while since someone’s made Dan laugh. It takes a second for it to connect between his body and brain and when it does a real, toothy smile breaks out. Phil watches, seemingly fascinated, as if he's never made anyone laugh before. Dan hardly recognises the sound of it himself. 

“No, I’m a photographer,” Phil answers before Dan can ask. Dan’s insides feel instantly warmer after laughing. He smiles across at Phil and can tell Phil notices his dimple. (His eyes drop to it.) Phil’s cheeks seem pinker too, which sparks a familiar yet forgotten sensation in Dan’s chest.

“I’ve been here before. Three summers, one winter. This will be my second.”

He’s answering all of Dan’s questions without Dan needing to talk. But Dan, distracted, should have been warier.

“And,  _Dan,_ what are you doing here?”

Though his name in the man’s voice is nice (a lovely northern accent, Dan notes), the spike of panic penetrates through its warmth like a shard of ice. Despite his best intentions, he answers honestly. At least, not _dishonestly_. Maybe it's the light from the sun, illuminating everything... Or maybe it's the light in Phil's eyes. 

“I don’t know.”

Strangest yet, Phil laughs. Dan stares and stares.

“I _don’t_ know,” Dan repeats, and suddenly he’s laughing too. Just quietly. He almost says it again. There’s release in it. There’s almost forgiveness. A sudden surge swells in him to stamp, scream, throw open his arms- His sigh forms a cloud and it drifts out to the horizon.

“To the ends of the earth.”

Dan whips his head around.

“What?”

Dan can see the pause in Phil’s eyes. All he can hear between them is his heart. And then Phil opens his arms wide, and Dan's heart beats absurdly faster.

“To find out.”

Phil shrugs. Lowers his arms. Time stretches. (Or does it stop?) Dan breathes the words in until they settle gently on his beating heart.

“Is that..." His voice cracks. "Some kind of motto around here?”

“Well, they’re my words.”

They’re closer again, somehow. Dan tilts his head at Phil and Phil tilts his back. There’s shadows on their faces like this, standing this close. The brightness of their surroundings actually seems to dim. Or it loses Dan's focus, anyhow. He's busy with Phil's freckles, the slight rough texture of Phil’s lips- Dan steps back and the cold whooshes through him. The moment snaps; time is still ticking. Phil’s eyes follow, and the shade of them tells Dan he’s still in the moment.

Well, this is unexpected.

“They’re good words.”

Phil blinks. To Dan’s thrill, Phil’s eyes flick up from his lips.

“You can have them now.” It’s another curious comment. Phil straightens, steps back and leans all the way against the wall. He crosses his arms, an odd but pleased look in his eye. His fopt bounces now. Clearly, they both recognise it; the attraction. Tension. The prospects here... Dan loses his confidence. He pulls up his hood and re-pockets his hands.

“The coat suits you.”

It’s stupid, not even a compliment, but Dan’s stomach swoops. (God, Dan, what if you're misunderstanding and embarrassing yourself and he's not even gay...?)

“Thanks. I’m going inside.”

“Okay.”

“See you.”

“You will.”

Dan looks back around the now open door. Just to check - just in case he'd seen things wrong, or something else might be there now. But Phil is still leaning there, smiling, one foot draped over the other. His ankles are bare as the breeze kicks up around them. His smile deepens into something else indeed. Dan ducks inside before he melts all of fucking Antarctica.

 

His cursor blinks from the blank space on his screen. He’s turned the lights out, pulled down the blinds, and refuses to get under all the many blankets until he’s written what he needs to write. He rests his fingers lightly on the keys. Closes his eyes. Opens. Slowly, and then tumbling, the words form themselves.

 

_When I was smaller, my dad would bring home boxes of fake snow. I always thought of them as portals to somewhere magical, and today it’s as though I’ve tripped into one and the somewhere magical is Antarctica. It makes sense that it takes a bigger expanse of snow to feel like magic now, being that I am bigger too. Antarctica snow is different to English snow. Snow in England is like the world pauses; snow in Antarctica is the world stopping. Flakes of paper resembling snow might be clever, but it’s the reality that inspired it that is the magic. The real magic. Where else in the world is complete and total silence?_

From here he introduces himself. He details the journey of his flight, and divulges in Antarctica’s contraceptive problem. He shares the picture of him in his orange coat, and determines to take one from the balcony tomorrow. He jokes about the rule of no penguins in his room, but that he found one of another kind. He hasn’t eaten it yet, but he includes the joke at the end.

_Why did the two penguins jump when they first met? They were trying to break the ice._


	3. The Icebreaker

In the first seconds of waking, Dan doesn’t remember where he is. He stares at the blank white ceiling – so close he can reach up his arm and touch it – and breathes out slowly. Despite his seemingly empty corridor, he can hear the tell-tale sounds of other people shuffling about. There’s the hum of a shower behind his head (which makes him panic, if someone could have heard his 15 minute shower last night (they’re supposed to be 5)), and there’s cheery voices out in the corridor.

He sits up like an elderly man. ‘ _Bleary eyed, the rat emerges from his slumber.’_ He lifts open two slats of blinds. Of course, it’s dazzling outside. It could be 7am, it could be 12 in the afternoon. It could be midnight (it’s not – he had still been awake then, scrolling on his phone and ignoring his emails.) He stares at the snow above the opposing wall a few seconds longer. It doesn’t quite look real, in the frame of the window.

His first real day. _To the ends of the earth to find out._ He’s going to make the most of it.

Did breakfast have a specific time? Is he going to miss the apples?

It’s not even 7am yet. He’d reached for his phone and inevitably knocked it from its shelf to the ground, leaving him to cower nakedly down from his bunk and read the time, shivering. It’s different waking up shirtless here than in England. Turns out, there aren’t any apples. There isn’t _any_ fruit – only cereal or toast. All the milk is soya milk which, when he makes a face, his neighbour in the queue informs is because it’s long lasting until opened. Dan pictures the rush for vegetables last night. ‘ _The race to the frozen peas is fraught, and for those leaving empty handed, the result is devastating. Never before has an apple looked so good.’_ He scurries to a table before conversation can start.

He would have gone back to sleep, but jet lag is jet lag, and he still hasn’t checked his email. Now that he does, he’s mighty glad. His first meeting is at 8 o’clock. _(_ The email from his mother is there, shining and terrifying, but he swipes up and out of the app, swiftly pushing away the feeling of nausea and guilt.) He puts his phone down (face down) and looks out at the canteen. _Maybe_ he put a little too much cereal on his spoon, for he swallows it down with difficulty.

He wonders where Phil is. He’d wondered last night too, and this morning, about a minute after he started getting dressed. Was he awake? Where was his room? Was he thinking about Dan too? The whole scene of them on the balcony has imprinted into his memory like a dream. It almost makes him feel silly for how his eyes flick to each new person entering the door. However, in a way, the scene on the balcony felt more real than anything else.

It’s in this second his heart pangs. He scrambles for his phone.

_14.30: Philip Lester – Room 17, South Wing_

Third to last.

Could it be..?

Dan anticipates it the entire day. After yesterday’s nasty reminder that questions are always going to be asked and he can be judged just the same here, he’d told himself to simply focus on everything _but_ himself. _Focus on Antarctica, and your research_ , is what he’d muttered while pulling on his jeans. _Ignore everything else._ But _now_ he’s distracted. He keeps looking up at the next person he’s meeting and thinking of Phil; shaking their hand and thinking of Phil; checking the time and everything is ticking towards _14.30_ and _Phil_. Nothing in his training had prepared him for a Phil. He might have a healthy BMI and know what to do in a blizzard, but (other than the fact he now has abs again-) nothing can help with this. The condoms on seemingly every surface really don’t help, either.

 _Steve Hartman_ is first. A short, bald man who moves with the same hurry as Vilde. He doesn’t stop moving around his office to even look Dan in the eye. He doesn’t offer Dan a chair; he packs his bag and clicks around the spreadsheet on his computer all whilst answering Dan with clipped, vaguely irritated information. The lines on his forehead go all the way onto his bald, shiny head, which Dan enjoys. Dan writes what he can about the glaciers Steve is studying, but he gets the impression Steve doesn’t really want Dan to understand – or think it possible he could. He thinks he underlines the key facts about the slow but sure effect of climate change, and when he’s dismissed not 20 minutes later, he spends the 40 minutes until his next meeting researching glaciers himself on his phone.

Second is Richard Maddock, head of radio operations. His office is in a tower up three floors and is round like a lighthouse. He appears to still be eating breakfast – a packet of biscuits, and tea – and is much friendlier. He leans back in his chair with one foot crossed to his thigh and Dan soon stops directing conversation because Richard _loves_ the sound of his own voice. Maybe that’s why he works in radio. He only pauses when a call comes in and he has to lean back and shove on his headphones. Dan scribbles away but leaves at 9.54 (he has to jog to his next meeting) not sure what of his notes he can use, other than this man’s clear love of Antarctica. At least he can look forward to his next meeting with Richard; more than his next meeting with Steve.

He meets the head chef next, which is unfortunate since it’s nearing lunchtime. Stella is from New Zealand and is the clichéd mother figure in the kitchen Dan never had; she’s pink in the face, her blonde hair wispy under her hat, and has an uproarious laugh that Dan hears a lot as she keeps deviating off topic. They sit opposite each other on stools, pots and pans dangling around them, and Dan keeps darting out his hand because she keeps tossing her head back with laughter and the stool already looks too small under her... _rotundness_. She wants to know about _him_ ; about his family, his interests, whether he’s left a girl pining at home. Dan uses his quick-wit and the excuse of professionalism to avoid anything too telling, and in the end she’s apologising because the hour is up and the lunch rush is coming. She holds his hands and he reassures her he did get enough information, to which she pats his cheek. He’s now under instruction to mention her name for extra pudding at dinner.

His next meeting is at 13.30, so he scurries back to his room. He just wants to do his hair a little nicer, put on his best jumper... He’s early to lunch and tries not to look too much like a meerkat as he scans the room for the appearance of a certain _Phil possibly-Lester_. Maybe he really did dream him. He spends the rest of his time devouring the sweet corn and anxiously reading over his post from last night; he didn’t exactly leave time for editing and he’d written it in a bit of a fever. He’s certainly not feeling the _complete and total silence_ now; today has been full of noise and absolutely zero snow.

Alice O’Reilly is a pretty Irish woman with fair skin and dark hair thrown in a pony-tail; Dan thinks she must blend in with the Adélie penguins she works with. Her office is...messy. Books in precarious piles and papers and folders strewn over her desk (and the floor). She gives him her full attention, focusing on him with bright eyes, delicate hands crossed on her knee. If Dan didn’t think he was getting gayer – and she didn’t have a sparkly ring on her finger – this girl could have captured his heart. She almost looks close to tears when she talks about the penguins and by the end Dan is joining her. They’re just mooning over pictures of them when he notices the time.

14.17. Shit.

“Who are you seeing next?”

Dan avoids her eyes.

“Phil Lester-”

“Phil!” She squeals, and throws up her hands. Her ring catches the light. “Oh, Phil is lovely. You’ll like him.”

( _Yeah_...)

“We’re good friends. He’s a laugh. You know what-“ She wheels herself to her desk then back, clearly not having found what she’s looking for. “Well, I’m sure we could find time. I’m thinking we could all go together, to see the penguins. He’s been saying to me he wants to photograph them. I’m just so _busy-“_ She puts her hand to her head, thinking, then shoots a smile at Dan. “But that’s for me to work out. I’ll email you when I do. But don’t be a stranger, kay? I’ll sneak you some extra pudding, I have my ways.”

“Stella is already on that.”

“Of course she is.”

She hugs Dan goodbye, which Dan is always awkward about, especially when the person is smaller. But Alice rubs his back which makes everything okay. He closes the door with a smile which falls instantly. Crossing from North to South is as big a journey as England to Antarctica, quite frankly. Phil’s door comes up too quick and Dan gives himself until 14.28 (pacing and leaning against the wall out of sight) before knocking. A garble comes from the other side, presumably an invitation to enter.

It is him. Of course it is; Alice had said photographer, and lovely. And regardless, when he’d seen the name in the list there’d been that feeling of familiarity that oddly stuck with him after he’d left Phil on the balcony.

“Dan!” Phil beams, spinning around and lighting up with the image of him. “I was hoping it was you.”

This makes Dan’s heart explode. He chuckles softly and drops his eyes to the floor as he steps inside. Phil is unmoved for a moment and then suddenly stands.

“Where’s your coat?”

“Er, in my room?”

Phil claps his hands. Dan watches, startled, as Phil grabs two flasks from his desk (which is quite possibly messier than Alice’s) and whirls around. He looks out of breath.

“I made hot chocolate,” he exhales, then rakes his eyes up Dan’s body. Dan is suddenly conscious of what is a very form-fitting outfit, compared to the ginormous doughnut coat of yesterday. Phil is wearing skinny jeans and a black jumper; his socks, however, are green and orange and feature penguins. When he meets Phil’s eyes, he’s close to blushing. There’s no blaming the wind now.

Phil just smiles. “Thought we could go for a walk.”

They amble back to Dan’s room. It’s not a booty call, but somehow it feels inappropriate. (Maybe because Dan wishes it was.) He’s almost conscious of the people they pass, as if they can tell. In the corner of his eye he can see Phil’s nice slopey shoulders and gentle way of walking.

“So...Phil Lester,” is the first thing he says.

“So, Dan Howell.”

He says it like he now knows the truth about him, as if they’ve both been exposed. Dan skates his eyes along the wall, clutching the cross-body strap of his bag with both hands.

“Have you opened your Penguin yet?”

Dan glances at Phil to find he’s already looking at Dan.

“Not yet.”

(Were Phil’s eyes this bright and piercing last night?)

“Why are we going outside?”

“Because why would you stay inside on Antarctica?” Dan looks at his feet. “No, because I thought you’d probably had a long day indoors. And I want to show off.”

“Antarctica?”

Phil looks away. “Yeah,” he smiles, clearly amused. When they reach his door, Dan’s hand is practically shaking with his keys. Phil waits in the corridor as Dan trips about (despite there being nothing to trip on) before emerging in his own coat – not the company orange one, which is to be worn on expeditions away from camp. Phil pouts.

“What? You like the highlighter pen look?”

He locks his door, hands shaking still. Phil seems to be searching for words.

“You were eye-catching.”

So Phil is intent on flirting, then. They walk in relatively awkward silence to the front desk to sign out. Dan becomes anxious with what Phil is thinking, but his mind is soon calmed. Phil was right; he’d needed the fresh air. He stands there on the steps just breathing it. When he opens his eyes, Phil is one step down to the ground, head tilted at him.

“How are you adjusting?”

“Good.” He jogs ahead of Phil, keen to step on some snow.

“Do you know what you’re doing now?”

Dan hides his blush.

“I’m asking _you_ questions.” He glances up and has to double take because Phil is closer than he realised. He pokes the middle of Phil’s chest and Phil’s mouth twitches in a smile. He offers one flask to Dan. Fuck, his eyes are easy to get lost in.

Phil directs them between buildings, their boots crunching and the sun high. Dan hadn’t thought to grab gloves, so he tries to warm his hands on the flask whilst Phil – restless as yesterday – pushes snow off ledges and balls it up to throw randomly ahead. Dan takes a long drink. It’s very, very sweet.

“Okay. Question one. Why did you come here the first time?”

Phil stills somewhat, balling the snow tighter in his fist. He throws it far.

“I got on the artist’s scheme,” he explains, breath condensing in the air. “I had a project in mind and miraculously they let me come and do it.”

“What was the project?”

Phil turns to Dan, eyes flicking over his face. “Just art,” he answers, looking forward again. Dan finds himself drifting closer. “Then I fell into jobs doing photography for scientists and _now_ I’m back to do another project. One in response to the first one, actually. The first was about the harshness of Antarctica. All its...sharp edges, twisted forms. Its emptiness. _Now_ I want to show the beauty of it. I’ve found that art is choosing angles and perspectives.”

“And is it going well?”

Phil frowns a bit in a bright slant of sun. He throws another ball then wipes his hand on his jeans. “Actually, I think I’m missing something.” He smiles, squinting at Dan. Somehow they slow to stopping at the same time.

“I’m probably supposed to be seeing your photos.”

Phil shrugs, tearing his eyes away. He sips his drink. They’ve reached the edge of the base and look out on the great expanse of snow leading to the sea. A cheeky smile sparks on Phil’s face and he lifts his hand, making half a frame.

“Well these are all the beautiful photos I would take.”

Dan doesn’t miss how he’s in said frame. Phil swiftly turns his hand to the snow, leaving Dan in the wake of his words. They’re not exactly subtle. It makes Dan’s insides cave. They continue walking around the outside of camp, Dan draining his drink fast while he tries to concentrate on what to say next. Phil had been thinking too, it seems.

“You should come with me tomorrow.”

“Hm?” Dan raises an eyebrow, chugging more drink. Phil’s eyes drop to his mouth.

“The icebreaker arrives tomorrow. It brings us supplies – _fruit_ , among other important things. I’m going on it between here and Halley to get photos. It’s- _spectacular._ You have to come.”

“Am I allowed?”

“I’ll sneak you on.”

“Phil...” The disapproving whine in Dan’s voice only seems to encourage Phil. He edges closer, close enough to nudge him.

“I’ll bring you more Penguins.”

Dan has to look at his feet with Phil this close, his eyes studying Dan’s expression. He taps his fingers on the sides of the flask.

“You don’t need to persuade me.”

“I think I do. I’ll convince you with all the chocolate and puns in the world.”

Dan’s lightheaded, and it’s not the thin air. Phil’s voice seems deeper and softer and Dan has to throw back his drink to scrounge the last of it. Phil’s still watching intensely, though he moves back just a little. 

Does this man blink?

“I should probably watch my time.”

Phil stops. Dan has to walk two steps back. He takes Dan’s empty flask and shoves it alongside his in two giant coat pockets then holds his hands out, gloved palms up. (Gloved ring-finger...) Dan’s eyes go wide.

“You’ll turn blue.”

Dan stares. His bare hands feel suddenly small.

Maybe it’s okay...he won’t be touching skin.

Tentatively, Dan moves his hands to Phil’s. Phil regards him from under his lashes. He grabs Dan impatiently – yet softly – enveloping both his hands in one warm compress. It’s surely embarrassing how Dan becomes rooted to the ground and how he can’t physically drag his eyes from the image in front of him. He’s aware his lips part just slightly, that his cheeks are pink and his eyes fixated, but it’s all he can do not to make a sound.

“Who are you seeing next?”

The way he whispers makes the question sound more intimate than it is. Dan licks his lips, eyes fluttering.

“Um.” He frowns, the edge of a stutter in his voice. Phil starts to rub his hands. “Oh, a bunch of PHD students.” It’s an unwelcome reminder; even if it isn’t the same students from yesterday, Dan is dreading it. He doesn’t want its anxiety encroaching on this.

“Why do you sound disappointed?”

“Um. Because they hate me.”

Phil’s laugh is startling. He hadn’t meant to sound so rudimentary, but he’s struggling to think straight ( _ah-hem_.) 

“They’re probably intimidated.”

Dan looks up. A hot slice of feeling runs through him at their proximity. Phil’s face eclipses the sun. He’s not taller than Dan, but he seems so now. Phil glances to the frown deepening between Dan’s brows and smiles knowingly.

“I’m intimidated.”

Dan goes to open his mouth.

“And after?”

(Maybe it's best Phil changes the subject.)

“Darren...?”

“...Kelly?” Dan bites his lip and nods. Phil nods back, smiling. “He’s great. And I’ll see you at dinner...?”

_Where were you at lunch?_

Dan nods again. He’s still biting his lip and releases it because Phil’s eyes are dancing between it and his eyes. He blushes so hot he thinks maybe its sunburn when Phil drops his hands and Dan makes the smallest sound in the back of his throat. He prays Phil didn’t hear it – maybe he didn’t. He crosses his arms, hands under his armpits, and walks on. Dan just about remembers the use of his legs (he blames the cold.) Phil signs them both back in then leans on the desk, turning to Dan.

“Did you ask all your questions?”

_No. I got to question two._

Something about the glint in Phil’s eye makes Dan bold.

“How old are you?”

“23,” Phil answers instantly, unsurprised. “You?”

“20. Going 21.”

Phil’s leaning closer. Dan panics and looks to the side. _No one else around._ And then he jumps because next moment Phil is in his ear.

“Is that all?”

Dan stares at the very unappealing brown floor. He looks at his hand by his side. He shakes his head.

“I have a question," Phil says instead.

Pause.

“Are you single?”

 

 

They must think him hopeless. Maybe he is. He’s a sweaty-handed mess juggling his papers and dropping his pen and writing in a barely legible scrawl. The four students in front of him answer diligently, but are otherwise bored. They’re certainly not intimidated (and Phil’s meaning with that remark makes him feel both better and worse.) Dan’s hyper aware of wasting their time, let alone being so awkward. He doesn’t understand anything they’re saying, but this time it’s not because he can’t – it’s because Phil’s face keeps looming in his head. The way he’d smiled slowly when Dan had finally answered ‘ _yes'...a_ nd then tapped the desk, stretched, and said _‘see you!’_ Dan got lost and was late, bursting through the door still in his coat. Now he exits, hauling the coat in his arms, with that sinking stone of doubt inside him weighing heavier and heavier. He tries to ignore it.

“I read your first blog post.”

Darren’s office (head of funds) is back behind the front desk. (Dan may have brushed his fingers along the spot Phil leant against...) He has a large window that looks out onto the camp and Dan searches for sign of footprints.

“My- How?”

Darren chuckles, leaning on his hands against the window frame. Dan shakes himself, putting his coat down and takes the chair offered, arranging his things whilst firmly avoiding Darren’s eyes.

“It’s on the internet, Dan-“

“-Yeah, sorry-“

“Before you panic-“ He waves his hand. “I loved it. You have a way with words.” (Dan thinks he mostly has a foot in his mouth, but these people haven’t seemed to notice that yet.) “Have you enjoyed your day?”

“Yes. I got lots of notes.”

Well, not from Phil. But he thinks he’ll remember.

Darren nods consideringly. Then he turns to where the ice is creeping into the window.

“It’s a bit of a change, isn’t it? From ol’ Blighty. Some just can’t get on with it, others find solace here. I’ve seen people come desperate to change their surroundings and in doing so change their perspective.” Dan’s heart is beating a little faster. He looks between this man and the window until at last Darren sighs. “Anyway. The floor is yours. Ask away.”

 

The shower has already become his sad space. One cry, and now he’s crying here again. For no one reason in particular – just a general sense of being overwhelmed, and of trying to keep it all at bay. He showers for 10 minutes (which is an improvement) then starts his blog, keen to not fuck at least that up. Once he’s vaguely structured his notes, he gets ready for dinner. He did bring one shirt: a wine red one, but he drops it back into the suitcase and instead pulls on a new t-shirt beneath his woollen jumper.

Maybe he shouldn’t sit with Phil. Maybe he should sit alone. Attenborough pipes up in his head: _‘The two tall, lanky men naturally gravitate towards one another. They size the other up in a ritual of glances, waiting until one of them makes the first move.’_ Perhaps Dan could keep it as a matter of need - just of the body. The thought speaks itself in his head and Dan immediately feels bad. What’s he suggesting? Asking Phil to be his south-pole fuck-buddy?

He’s late again – arriving at 6.30, too late for the carrots. And peas. He doesn’t have the balls to mention Stella, and slips from the queue heading towards the same corner from yesterday. Unfortunately, on his way he bumps into one of the PHD students from his interview. The petite black girl. He doesn’t even remember her name.

“Dan!” She smiles down at their trays, which nearly clashed. “Too late for greens too, I see. Hey, did you want to sit together?”

Dan blinks in surprise. “Oh, no, sorry. I’m meeting someone?”

He tries to pretend she doesn’t look crestfallen. “That’s okay. Next time.”

He can feel her eyes on his back as he continues walking. What would they have talked about anyway? His god-awful interview? Science? He slumps down at the table and hunches into himself, hoping the PHD student can’t see. He’s not sure where Phil is and he almost wishes not to see him. More unfortunately, however, two bodies jump down across from him. Phil. And Alice, both grinning madly and holding coffees. His eyes flick over Phil and he flushes with guilt. Phil says something and Dan berates himself for looking up from his arms to his lips.

“He hoards them.”

Phil has pushed a singular Penguin bar across the table at him. Dan reaches for it hesitantly.

“Darren lets him because Phil is basically his son.”

“...Are you going to make everyone hate me by giving me special treatment?”

“No one hates you, Dan. Eat the biscuit.”

Alice giggles, taking a drink and glancing between them. Dan fiddles with the corner of the wrapper. When he looks back up Phil is turned to Alice in some kind of silent exchange. Phil drags his eyes away, smiling. Alice hides her face behind her drink again.

“Why Antarctica, Dan?”

In the middle of his own silent exchange with Phil (that of acknowledging his question earlier, and the subsequent tension-) he forgets Alice is there. He also forgets his food. He takes a bite now, delaying his answer.

“I guess...it’s a bit of an Eat, Pray, Love situation.”

There’s a short silence and then Alice breaks out in a short, shocked laugh. Phil is watching him. He eyes are warm.

“Just...colder.”

“Well, Julia Roberts, Phil made his name here, so you never know.” ( _His name?)_ “Your family must miss you.” Dan just shrugs. He focuses back on his food, panicking to change the subject. Thankfully, Alice doesn’t notice his discomfort and sits up, pressing her elbows to the table. “Is it what you expected so far?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Kind of.”

“What didn’t you expect?”

His mind leaps to Phil, but keeping his eyes on his plate, he blurts out his second thought.

“The condoms,” he splutters, unable to hold back his grin. They really are everywhere - it can’t just be him that’s noticed. Alice laughs that short, shocked laugh again, which is enough to settle Dan’s nerves. Though they erupt again when he glances to see Phil’s reaction. He hasn’t moved, a sly smile on his lips. He lifts his eyebrows just once, just subtly. Dan flicks his eyes away. Maybe Alice noticed; she’s adjusting the lid on her coffee, a smile of her own in the shadow of her face.

They stay an hour, until Dan can’t take any more of Phil’s distracting nature (his hands, his adam’s apple, his eyes-) and excuses himself to go finish writing up his day. Alice hugs him across the table and enthuses how glad she was to have caught him (‘ _We wondered where you were!’_ ) Dan is on some kind of natural high after their conversation. He hasn’t hung out with friends in a while, and these are new, nicer ones. Even if it feels fragile, with them not really knowing him at all, it leaves him happy to hear their funny stories. To hear how they first met (Phil’s second summer, he accidentally went back to her room instead of his on the first night) and about the bants and debauchery that go down when people get stir crazy (scientists sumo-wrestling on the ice, drunken snow-angels and a certain someone having his clothes stolen after going in the dunk pool.) Now he’s scrubbing the naked Phil-images from his mind and trying not to imagine a sleep-walking Phil at his door.

He doesn’t get a sleep-walking Phil, but he does get a hurried knock at fuck o’clock in the morning. Dan hadn’t exactly confirmed he was coming, only that he wasn’t meeting anyone else tomorrow and, in fact, had no plans; but Phil seemed to think Dan expected him, or else thought it funny to open the door on a sleep-ruffled, shirtless Dan, demanding he put his boots on now. The Icebreaker is leaving in 20 minutes.

Dan just about remembers to grab his phone and stumbles out into the light where Phil gradually comes into focus. He’s still in a daze – which Phil respects, by actually being quiet in the back of the car, fiddling with his camera bag - until they’ve arrived and walked across the thicker snow to the shore, where a gigantic ship is moored. Now Dan is starkly awake, though he feels tiny.

People gather on the top deck, the wind slapping redness into everyone’s cheeks. Some are holding flasks like they were yesterday, clutching them close to their chest and nose, savouring the warmth. Dan and Phil are still being quiet, leant on the rail as the ship readies itself. From here the mountain looks smaller, and Phil points to where Dan had landed on the plane just a day ago.

An alarm sound alerts the crew and passengers that they’re ready to move. Everything has been unloaded and loaded and now the engines start to groan. Dan grips onto the railing fiercely, without knowing at all what is to come. Phil lifts Dan’s hood up for him, pulling the zip the short distance to the top.

They literally have to break the ice. They reach another shore and before Dan knows it the alarm is going and the ship is rearing upwards. It crashes down onto the ice with the most colossal sound. Dan finds his limbs shaking, right down to his skeleton. Phil's camera clicks and clicks. The deep hum of the sea reverberates through him. He grips so tight to the rail his knuckles turn white.

The ship lurches higher. Dan screams and Phil is suddenly holding him, one secure arm reaching around his back as he grabs his arm.

“Ready?” He says into his ear.

“No- _o-“_

The ship dives down again and the crowd on board cheers and laughs. Great waves form on the water and the ship – despite being enormous – sways. Dan’s stomach feels sick but there’s lightness above it; a thrill capturing his heart. He’s glad for Phil’s weight and warmth behind him, pressing closer and closer each time the ship goes down.

The path through the ice is slow to carve. After five more crashes, Phil clicking away a couple more times, Dan turns around in Phil’s arms. He’s moved his hand from Dan to the railing, caging Dan in, and he goes to move back now, but Dan places one hand on his wrist.

“Take a photo of me?”

Phil lifts the large camera around his neck but Dan shakes his head. Phil's worrisomely clumsy with the phone, but he manages not to drop it. They crash down again and Dan screws up his face, gripping tight. Phil’s foot slides between Dan’s but he steadies himself.

“Ready?” He laughs.

“ _Yes!_ ” Dan all but shouts.

He doesn’t really think about posing. He just smiles and laughs with all the glee he feels. Phil keeps clicking and angling the frame, so Dan turns his face into the wind.

“Open your arms!”

“I can’t!”

He does – briefly. He screams louder as the ship heaves and crashes, grabbing for the rail. Dan never thought ice breaking could be so _loud_. It continues to ring in his ears later.

 

“Hey,” Phil whispers, nudging Dan’s arm. They’ve sat down behind the railing, the ship having moored at Halley, a smaller base. Their scrolling through their photos (Phil took so many on Dan's phone; Dan smiling, laughing, hair flying, arms open, screaming. “You know you can skype your family, if you want. Sometimes the connection is dodge but it’s better than nothing.”

Dan’s stomach drops. Or that heavy stone does, grating against his insides. A bird screeches above them. Dan shades his eyes – the sunlight is very bright.

“They, er, might not want.” His voice is very small, and awkward. “I didn’t exactly leave without telling them but...I didn’t give them any say in the decision.”

The wind whistles in the space Phil doesn’t talk. Dan can feel him breathing beside him. He wants to hear the ice cracking again, and drown everything else out.

“...It’s your life, Dan.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t tell them anything until my flights were booked.”

He taps loudly on the phone screen. It’s not loud enough. His smiling face in the pictures looks wrong now.

“So you don’t trust them.”

The words stick in the air. His heart is beating loudly now but he doesn’t want Phil to hear that. He turns sharply with all the noise of his large, crinkly coat, and shoves the phone at Phil.

“This one, or this one?”

Phil stares intently, but can’t decide. He helps Dan to standing and slots close beside him as they take hold of the boat again. The alarm whirls and Dan closes his eyes as the engines thunder.

“Dan?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

How could he ever have meaningless sex with this man?

He nods, then without opening his eyes, tugs on Phil’s sleeve with a tiny fist. Phil resumes their position from earlier, now holding onto both of Dan's arms, and if Dan tilts a little into Phil’s neck, he doesn’t think on it.

 

He writes all afternoon. He’d managed to film some of the boat breaking the ice, and it was pretty spectacular. He adds the video on his Instagram, along with the photos (one smiling, the second screaming), and hits send on his second blog post. He’d included the second Penguin bar pun – _How do Penguins make a decision? Flipper a coin –_ but left the chocolate unopened on his desk. He really hadn’t known what to expect here. And he really isn’t prepared.

He ignores the new email that lights up his phone. He lies back on his bed, ice shattering in his brain, and takes a large, juicy bite of apple.


	4. The Lost Penguin

The first one he finds half crushed at the bottom of his bag. Technically, Phil continued giving Dan Penguin biscuits every so often at dinner, breakfast and lunch, but then they started appearing without Phil there at all. Slipped into various pockets in his bag; left on the carpet outside his bedroom door (which, of course, Dan nearly stepped on.) Friends and strangers alike were directed to give him them, much to their confusion. Once, Dan found one in his back jean pocket. He remained flustered the entire day.

_Like many animals, the Phil Lester shares his food as a sign of affection. His efforts, however, are not returned, and his advantages remain rejected like the biscuits remain unopened at the bottom of Dan’s suitcase._

_Rejected_ is a strong word, perhaps. And maybe Phil gives biscuits to everyone (oh, who you kidding, Howell?) But while it’s true that Dan hasn’t let the flirtations and acknowledged attraction escalate (instead leaving them suspended in their tension), he has found himself gravitating to Phil. Phil began inviting him to his office for supposed work-related reasons (asking him advice about which shot of snow looks ‘happier’...?), but it’s since become tradition for Dan to turn up around 4/5 o’clock, before they go to dinner, to discuss their day (all whist carefully avoiding the topics of home or university...)

With each new piece of information Phil gleams about Dan, his smile broadens. They both love Muse? Dan has watched two seasons of Buffy, Phil’s favourite show? They’re both absolute video game nerds? Phil stares in relative shock until imparting an all-too genuine admission of _‘Oh my god, you’re perfect.’_ Dan won’t admit that it makes his heart ache a little, but it does; Phil’s begun to feel like a new, radiator-warmed jumper that fits just right.

They game in the East Wing lounge (on the only available PlayStation, though Phil insists that Richard, head of radio communications, and his buddies are hoarding one – ‘ _What? like your Penguin biscuits?’_ ) Dan enjoys Phil’s gamer rage; he enjoys watching Phil mope, or protest, or bite the controller, or even swear, when he’s really frustrated. If he’s honest, he’s started letting Phil win. Phil celebrating and doing his little wiggly-dance is perhaps even better than Phil pouting and leaning in just a little too close. Meanwhile, Phil enjoys Dan’s _creative_ vocabulary – Dan swears _a lot,_ even more so now he knows Phil isn’t offended. Dan could never hold back from being loud when gaming, but he doesn’t think Phil minds. (Phil, who reacts by smirking, as if his mind has drifted from the lounge...)

Dan has yet to miss a day of blogging, which is building a tentative sense of pride in Dan. Tentative because it’s terrifying; he’s only making it harder for when he inevitably fails. Denise has been singing his praises, even professing that he’s ‘ _exceeded her expectations_.’ It’s true that his following has been growing. He has noticed his follower count exceed that of the original BAS Twitter account. (There was a definite spike when Phil helped him film a tour of the building, incorporating Dan’s Attenborough narration and too many clips of them laughing until their bellies hurt.) Most of all, he’s throwing himself into being an ‘ _Antarctican_.’ He goes outside more than anyone. Well, maybe not _everyone_ , but sometimes it gets past midnight and he’s still there wandering. (He’s yet to return to the balcony; he has an illogical notion that Phil will be there, waiting.)

He won’t think about how he’s trying harder with his image. It’s self-love, to actually style his hair for the first time in months and pay attention to a real skin-care regime. (That second one is key, his lips have now been chapped for days.) He also won’t think about how he semi-jogs to Phil’s room today, despite it not even being four o’clock yet.

“Oh, hello there,” Phil greets all-too affectionately, eyes flicking over Dan how they always do. He spins back around in his chair, away from Dan, and Dan slumps into the doorframe. “How was your day,” Phil asks around a smile.

“Oh, just genuinely shaken about the welfare of our planet and awaiting our impending doom.”

“The usual, then.”

Dan nods though Phil can’t see. He traces over a splinter of wood, watching Phil coyly (though he wouldn’t admit to that.) He lets himself in, swinging the door shut behind him and flopping down sideways in his own spinny chair. He drapes his legs over the arm and watches Phil again. He’s lost his place in another book, tutting quietly, his long fingers clumsily searching this way and that without any real method. When he finds the right page he smooths it open with a little ‘A-ha!’ and Dan watches as his hand moves to dog-ear the page...

“It’s so ugly when you do that.”

Phil turns fully to face him. Dan drags his eyes away, taking out his phone. Phil is smiling in amusement at Dan’s disdain. He bends one leg to lift his ankle to his knee so he can rest the open book in his lap. He settles back, thumbing once more through the pages.

“I’ll dog-ear your mum.”

Dan simply raises his middle finger. He’s aware he must have a double chin in this position, but at least focusing on his phone prevents him from staring at Phil (especially now his crotch is so openly presented...) Soon Dan gets distracted, eyes tracking over the comments on his new post (Bake-off in an Antarctic kitchen, hosted by Stella, one photo showing the handprints of flour Dan managed to get on his arse.)

“Looking over your admirers?”

“They’re not admirers, Phil, they’re followers. They’re just fellow humans on Instagram.”

“Mhm. Who think you’re cute.”

“Who have an interest in science and the environment.”

“Who have an interest in you.”

Dan rolls his eyes obscenely and slumps further into his seat. The double chin probably quadruples.

“I should expose you and your ways of not knowing how to sit in a chair.”

Dan scoffs. “Then I’ll expose you for hoarding chocolate biscuits. Speaking of, do I not get one today?”

Dan’s head is against the arm of the chair now, blinking up at Phil. He wiggles his feet mid-air. Phil doesn’t look, instead turning another page. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

They’re quiet for a while. Dan rests his hands on his chest, tapping against his phone case. Sometimes he’ll do some writing here, or start ranting at Phil who, bless him, nods along and tries to follow Dan’s train of thought, be it political or a frustrated rendition of his second meeting with _Steve, Mr-I'm-Too-Intelligent-For-You_ (which, of course, quickly gets into dangerous territory regarding Dan’s education.) Today he’s restless.

“How’s the project,” he breaks the silence.

He continues to stare at the ceiling, breathing shallowly.

“Um...good. Just...trying to find...this reference...”

Phil has shown Dan some of his photos, the ones that appear on Google images and in scientific journals, but otherwise he’s guarded. He saw a few from this project, but those few have now been rejected; now whenever Dan walks in on Phil editing on the computer, Phil will switch tabs to emails or otherwise. Whenever Dan has asked – throwing in a cheeky smile because he knows what it is to not want to reveal something – Phil has responded by saying ‘ _not ready yet.’_

Dan sits up, chair trembling and squeaking beneath him.

“Have you...found it yet?”

“Not yet...”

“No I mean- not the reference.” Phil glances up and frowns. Dan angles his head. “You said you were missing something. With the project.”

Phil slides his eyes to the side. He appears to think for a moment, and then snaps his book shut. “Okay.” He wheels to his desk, fiddles with his computer, then wheels back around. “I’ll show you.” Dan is leant forward, waiting on bated breath. A little smile twists on Phil’s lips. “But I’m nervous.”

Dan shakes his head, meaning to respond verbally that of course Phil doesn’t need to be, but somehow the words don’t form. Carefully, Dan wheels beside Phil, whose back to tap-tapping away through documents and folders. Dan’s eyes flick greedily over the large screen.

“So. I wanted to have a bit of a collection going before showing you. Better to...explain what I mean.”

He clicks into one folder then pauses, turning to Dan with an expectant expression. Dan drags his eyes from the small thumbnails and elbows Phil lightly. “Go on,” he chuckles.

The quiet between them buzzes. Or maybe that’s the ceiling fan. There’s a heavy feeling of importance. Dan’s heart is thudding and some kind of electricity is skipping over his skin. (Phil’s fingers are just there on the arm of his chair, next to Dan’s elbow.) The first photo loads in fragments. It’s an aerial shot of Antarctica, but then following it is a picture of the rows of passengers, exactly as Dan had seen it on his flight; little orange lumps with their hoods down, though in Phil’s picture he’s captured one woman looking up, eyes closed and smiling. Dan smiles too, surprised. The next is a beautiful view of the horizon meeting the sky, but second to it is a slightly shaky photo of Phil and Alice, arms around one another and foreheads touching. The pattern continues; Antarctica alone, and then the people here, the everyday scenes of work, of laughter, of wet socks and frosted moustaches and people sharing the midnight sun. Personal, intimate moments captured.

Dan’s heart has already thudded its way into his throat, and then he sees the picture that looks the most familiar. A picture of _him_ ; his shoulder, half his hood and a curl of his hair, blowing out in the wind as the ice cracks and waves swell in front of him. Suddenly all Dan can see are the pictures of him, flashing one by one between the images of others. One of their walks outside, Dan with his arms thrown wide because Phil had dared him to scream like in a movie, though Dan couldn’t; Dan playing video games, with Dan’s feet on the coffee table next to Phil’s; Dan standing precariously on a chair to try and get WiFi in the West Wing lounge (where the PlayStation isn’t, but the bigger TV is); Dan holding up the first finished page in his colouring-in book, stupid smile on his face; Dan laughing with other people on their tour of the building, his lean body central in the framing; Dan and Alice biting apples; Dan’s back with a fucking Penguin bar sellotaped to it; Dan asleep in the very office chair he’s sitting in now.

Dan exhales carefully. He doesn’t want Phil to hear the tremor that’s vibrating all throughout his body, even if Phil’s knee is bouncing nervously beside him. Phil takes Dan’s small noise as cue to explain. Dan keeps staring at the folder of images, swallowing against the dryness in his throat.

“I wanted to show the beauty of Antarctica. But I realised half the beauty of Antarctica is the people here. They’re the warmth against its cold, the comfort against its harshness, the hope against its emptiness. You inspired me.”

Phil turns to him and Dan startles.

“I- What?”

“I took those photos of you on the icebreaker and realised what I was missing.”

He’s smiling, soft and glowing. It’s too much.

“I want to turn the camera inward this time.”

(The distance between them is too small, too warm.)

“And be a bit more...spontaneous.”

Dan pushes back in his seat, cheeks hot.

“You snek!” He breaks the tension. Thankfully, Phil laughs. Dan stutters. “I thought those photos were just for you and your- _memories_ , or whatever!”

( _Not_ mentioning the laughing shot or the sleeping picture, Dan’s not thinking of those...)

Phil wheels in closer, seemingly thinking nothing of it. “I wouldn’t publish anything without your permission, of course, this is just a work in progress. What do you think?”

“Yeah, I mean...” He looks back at the screen. The computer hums evenly. “These are really beautiful, actually.” He sighs and shakes his head. “You have a way of capturing the world as if we were...inside your head. It’s like the photos could move any second, like those pictures in Harry Potter, you know?” Phil doesn’t seem to know, or he’s too invested in what Dan’s saying to speak himself. It’s unnerving, to see how much Dan’s words mean to him. “Anyway... You’ve definitely, er, shown the beauty. Not that all your subjects are beautiful, meaning _me_. You must do something to the lighting too...”

When he looks at Phil now he can picture himself in the frame of Phil’s eyes. He squirms under the pressure, flipping his phone between his hands before checking the time. Nowhere near dinner.

“Right. I should write.”

Apparently the tension hadn’t fully broken, or a new layer had formed, like the fast freezing ice outside. But with Dan’s statement the conversation is definitely ended. Phil shifts and draws a breath. Dan begins wheeling himself away, though he doesn’t need to; he didn’t bring his laptop, so he can only write on his phone (which he hates.)

“No creep shots,” he adds over his shoulder, and is endlessly relieved at Phil’s laughter (be it slightly breathless.) 

“And do you know what you’re doing now, Julia Roberts?”

He hasn’t asked that in a while.

“Still just procrastinating from a distance.”

“As in...” Phil gestures between them. “Over there...or Antarctica?”

( _Both_.)

Dan manages some editing and comment-replying and then Phil jumps to standing, making Dan nearly fall off his chair (which Phil, of course, points out.) As Dan is opening the door, Phil taps his shoulder from behind. He presents a singular Penguin bar. Dan narrows his eyes.

“I thought you didn’t know what I was talking about?”

“I don’t, some weirdo told me to give this to you. I think he likes you.”

Dan rolls his eyes and snatches it.

“Thank you, by the way. For your feedback.”

Dan mm-hm's as Phil locks the door and they walk on, Phil traipsing behind Dan. The Penguin biscuit feels annoyingly heavy in his palm.

“Oh, and Dan?” Dan mm-hm's again, this time with a hint of exasperation. “I only work with natural lighting.”

Phil’s voice is closer, deeper, leant towards the back of Dan’s neck. He jogs forward to walk instead beside Dan, hands firmly pocketed and smile confident. Dan’s neediness to be near Phil earlier turns cold. It’s not Phil; Phil is lovely and warm and Dan feels a resurgence of guilt for stringing him along. Dan is a slowly thawing goblin (the first descriptor that comes to mind, which is telling.) He doesn’t want Phil to see said goblin in him, but he knows he can’t remain a perfect stranger forever, can’t keep them in the in-between like this. And he _knows_ Phil would understand, everything from dropping out to his depression; it’s more a case of saying it aloud to himself.

Ever since finding out about Phil’s upcoming birthday (his 24th – Dan, still at 20, now teases him relentlessly for being old), Dan has thrown himself into helping organise. Alice described her big plans for a party when Phil had gone to fetch a fork (instead of the two knifes he’d picked up) and Dan had listened carefully with a slow sinking sensation. He didn’t get time to suggest his ideas then, but he came to her office later and explained how Phil might find a big party intimidating. Alice regretfully agreed, tapping her finger to her lips how she always does when she really cares about something. Dan’s suggestion was a film night – a horror movie, perhaps, since Phil used to have a penchant for making homemade horror films with his friends (a fact he revealed after calling Dan out on being a good candidate for a slasher victim, what with his screaming.) Alice still insisted on it being a surprise, so they sent out secret invitations and hid the mass popcorn from Phil accordingly (a difficult task, according to Stella.)

When the day came around, Dan made sure Alice was out the way until evening, since she was no good with secrets, and remained calm and casual with Phil himself. Work still had to be done, so celebrations were limited to lunch (cheersing with their cartons of apple juice) and the morning, when Dan forced himself awake bright and early and surprised Phil with two flasks of hot chocolate so they could have breakfast outside. It was amusing to think Phil had just turned 24 when he was as giddy as a child. Impatient, too, demanding to know when he’d get cake and if Dan could play video games with him in the evening (Dan just said yes, and went along with Phil’s silly idea of joint Mario Kart, where Phil would control weapons and directions and Dan acceleration and drift.)

Phil said he’d pick Dan up from his room for dinner and knocked on his door promptly at 6 o’clock. Dan’s never made an effort for dinner before, sticking to sloppy jumpers and plain t-shirts. So it’s to be expected that Phil is surprised. Surprised and maybe something more – Dan decided on somewhat a whim to put on his wine-red shirt, and now he stands in his doorway breathing a little heavy, carding a nervous hand through his hair. He knows the shirt suits him, brings out the red puffy pout in his lips and the dark brown in his eyes. He barely tries to tame the blooming in his chest as Phil looks him up and down and is for once lost of words as he shuffles out the way to let Dan out. Finally, he cracks a smile as they walk.

“There...must be good lighting in this hallway.”

Dan bites his lip against awkward laughter. He can feel Phil’s eyes on him, sharp and bright and smiling.

_Phil just called me beautiful._

Dan struggles to shake the feeling of this being a date. The plan is simple – take Phil into the canteen where the lights will be out and then everyone will spring up and present the cake – but even such simple instructions are suddenly forgettable, and Dan has a wild notion of pulling Phil back into his room and keeping him all to himself. Nevertheless, the canteen looms and Phil’s steps falter as he notices the lights. He checks his watch.

“Is my watch wrong?”

“Er...” Dan offers stupidly, unable to conjure a better excuse right now and it won’t matter in about three seconds anyway. He tugs Phil’s wrist and Phil follows with ease. The scuff of their shoes echoes in the doorway and Dan counts two beats of his heart before the lights are on and blazing and there’s a loud explosion of noise. Dan watches as Phil reacts sweetly as ever, gushing over the surprise of it all. He receives hugs from just about everyone, but keeps looking over at Dan. When he cuts into the ginormous cake (Stella’s contribution), he gives Dan the first slice, despite having to lean over Caren, the girl who’d wanted to sit with Dan that first day of interviews. She still always smiles at him in passing and has taken the opportunity to sidle up to him tonight. When Phil isn’t looking, Dan gives her his slice and takes his as the rest are passed around.

As Phil is swept up in party food and conversation with all his friends, Dan swallows his guilt for dismissing her before and gets to know Caren. They’re soon swept up themselves in what turns out to be an instantaneous and easy connection, and it takes Phil physically sitting down beside them for them to notice the group shuffling to stand.

“It’s movie time! Danny boy-” Tugging on Dan’s shirt sleeve minutely, he turns to Caren. “You don’t mind if I steal him, do you?”

Caren folds her hands and laughs shyly. “No, go ahead. Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks! Right, come on, we're getting the best seats in the house.” Dan’s about to comment that there’s no competition because it's Phil’s birthday, after all, but he’s pulled from his seat and can only cast a helpless smile back at Caren, who returns the expression. They stumble after Alice, whose directing everyone out the room with a startlingly loud voice in contrast to her little bunny-bouncing feet. She winks at Dan when they pass.

“She fancies you.”

Dan blushes hot at the whisper. They’re walking in long strides through the corridors, other pairs and groups of people in front and behind them.

“Who?”

Dan knows who.

“That girl.” There’s something delicious about the tone in Phil’s voice. “You really didn’t notice? She couldn’t stop looking at you.”

_You couldn’t stop looking at me._

Dan just shrugs. He could say something about her feeling sorry for him because of his awkward interview, but truthfully that would be a lie. They find their seats at the front – plastic chairs, though Alice gathered blankets to make it cosier – and arrange their bowls of popcorn and slim glasses of Prosecco in their laps. The movie is set up via projector in front of them. Dan reaches into his pocket.

“I got you a present.”

“Dan!”

“Quick, before the lights go out.”

He watches as Phil’s fingers fumble over the wrapping, quickly tearing it apart.

“I know it’s stupid, but turns out you can’t buy much in Antarctica.”

Phil’s impatient fingers slow and he turns the present over in his hands. Dan can hear him breathing, even with the chatter and movement around them. “Dan...”

“-Now you won’t keep losing your place, hey,” he smiles, poking the bookmark. He’d printed an image of Buffy with a photo-shopped penguin on her shoulder and got it laminated, with Darren’s help. Long seconds pass and Phil still hasn’t said anything except Dan’s name (twice), but just before Dan gets really anxious he speaks.

“You really are perfect.”

Dan swallows thickly. Surely Phil can hear it. When their eyes meet the lights dim and Dan feels an aching all through the centre of him, through his heart up to his throat. He can’t judge how long they stare at one another, Phil’s head tilted forward, eyes soft yet glistening. A gentle smile nudging Phil’s lips brings Dan back to reality and he smiles politely, turning to stuff popcorn into his mouth. Phil might chuckle at that, and Dan knows why, but all he’ll do in response is follow the popcorn with a large glug of cheap champagne.

The week following Phil’s birthday (with its many more old man jokes), Alice grabs a sleepy Dan and surprised Phil from the breakfast queue and pushes them down at ‘their’ table (apparently the instincts of schoolchildren remain in adulthood.) Dan hadn’t slept well because the night before he’d received the first email from his grandmother. He has responded to his parents but only twice and only with the bare minimum of reassurance and information. His grandma’s concern and interest however made his heart ache for the familiarity of home and he cried until his pillow was damp on both sides. But Alice’s news soon distracts him.

“Penguins!”

The day has arrived. Dan’s browsing the sunglasses stand, choosing between what Phil sees as two identical glasses (they’re not – the bit across the nose is different.)

“I still can’t believe I’m going to hang out with penguins... Hm. Ok-“ He twirls around and poses. Phil crosses his arms, smirking. “Which do you think the Penguins will prefer? I want them to think I’m cool.”

“You’ll never be as cool as the penguins, Dan.”

Dan pouts, sliding the second pair of glasses off. “I’m choosing these.” Dan crosses to the till and Phil ambles behind, skimming his hand along the displays and knocking three toothbrushes to the floor in his just-woken state (a contrast to the usual, with Dan so bright and bushy-tailed.) Dan hadn’t thought to bring sunglasses and is tired of being blinded outside. They’re going to see the penguins!! Alice had finally organised a time for them, with Alice doing her science, Phil photographing, and Dan...tagging along. Well, he’ll blog about it later.

Once paid, Dan immediately puts the glasses on, price tag still attached, and saunters out the shop. Today he truly feels like an _Antarctican_ ; he’s genuinely, whole-heartedly excited and happy in a way he hasn’t been in years. His grumpiness is only teasing when by 9AM they’re waddling about at the doors in their giant, fluorescent, company orange coats; he’s never felt more content to look like a highlighter pen.

“You’re right. The penguins are going to be so embarrassed by us.”

“Well at least it’s not just you in the noob coat this time. Want some?” Phil holds out the suncream. His cheeks, nose and ears are still a little white in places and Dan itches to rub it in. Dan shakes his head, pulling on his gloves, but Phil dabs a spot on his nose anyway. He grumbles at that, but still can’t help smiling. He feels so light today. (Is this how he used to feel, as a child? Is this what some people feel always?)

“Okay explorers!” Alice claps her hands, a soft thud with the padding of her gloves. “Let’s go!”

To Dan’s thrill, it’s on snowmobiles they’ll be travelling. It only adds to the wonderment of the day. Alice takes the lead one while Phil and Dan share the other, _not_ detracting from Dan’s joy either...(he gets to sit behind Phil, arms wrapped to waist and bodies pressed tight.) Phil’s driving might make him a tad nervous (of course he can’t drive as straight as Alice...) but as they skim across the landscape, the engine humming and snow flying beside the skis, Dan’s heart is simply full of love for this world, for this precious yet precarious place of ice he somehow came to live on. This is the stuff of adventurous spirits Dan only ever dreamed of being. He is so, so far from England.

The flock of penguins appear slowly on the horizon where the sun is bright and Dan’s sunglasses misting. As soon as they come to a stop he lifts off his shades to see without barrier the reality before him; a mass of little black dots, squawking and waddling and shivering in the breeze. Maybe it’s embarrassing how fast tears well in his eyes, but Dan couldn’t care less. Phil turns and sees the emotion clear on his face and smiles softly in understanding. He offers his hand and helps Dan to standing and they both breathe in a collective breath.

At first they’re quiet, each appreciating the nature mere feet away and the privilege of their situation. But soon Alice claps her hands in her Alice-way, breaking the reverent silence and marching into action, jabbering on with facts as she bends and collects samples (of penguin poo, Dan thinks...) Phil starts setting up his tripod and Dan shifts from foot to foot, cold, but also not sure what to do. Maybe he should be making notes; he _could_ be listening to Alice, but all he _wants_ to do is stare and stare at the hundreds of penguins going about their penguin-day. The parent penguins...the _baby_ penguins...the penguins hugging...the penguins making all that _racket_. It’s weird and ridiculous to think of all his human problems when penguins live as simplistic as this. Phil’s camera begins clicking and Dan is just debating stepping closer to the flock when one rogue penguin steps closer instead.

“Er...Phil?”

Phil looks up. Alice stops talking and laughs when she realises.

“It’s okay! He wants to say hi!”

The little penguin stalls and flaps a bit. Dan thinks their eyes are connected and gulps. Phil has moved close and slowly crouches down beside Dan. He grabs Dan’s arm and pulls him down too. The penguin skids just as Dan slips and almost falls on his arse. Both Dan and penguin pause.

“See, look at you two. You’re like twins.”

Phil steadies and hushes him. The penguin waddles closer cautiously.

“-Just don’t touch him,” Alice interjects from behind. Dan takes a sharp breath. The penguin has stopped to stand mere feet away. Phil’s hand is still soft on his shoulder.

“Hello there,” Dan whispers. The penguin makes a quiet trill, lifting its left wing. “Hi little guy. High flipper- or don’t, air high five instead.” The penguin bobs ever closer and Dan’s heart is positively in his throat. “You are curious. Who are these giants, hey?” Phil stands slowly, gently removing his hand. Dan can hear his shoes padding towards the camera. The penguin’s face is so close to his; Dan tries not to breathe too loud.

“You’re looking fly, mate. I hope you don’t take that as an insult, ‘cos you can’t fly. Or can you...I don’t know, I didn’t listen to Alice. Black’s my favourite colour too. And I know all your friends are wearing it too but you stand out from the crowd. You’re different. But you know that’s cool, don’t you?”

The camera has clicked a few times already and as the penguin leans forward it clicks again. A tear slips onto Dan’s cheek again, but he’ll wipe it away before the others see.

“Between you and me,” Dan whispers more quietly. “I don’t fit in with my crowd, either. But I’m more like those penguins with directional insanity. You’re a straight up daredevil, aren’t you?” The penguin flaps its wings and Dan chuckles. He’s talking to a fucking penguin. “Shall we do a cheeky high five? I mean, high flipper.” Out of sight of the others, who are stood behind, Dan presents his hand. There’s a moment where the penguin seems to look and Dan thinks he’ll do it- but in the next second he’s turned and waddling towards Phil.

“Yeah, high flippers are so lame, right?” Dan whispers to himself. Phil must get a good photo and then he lowers his camera and waves at the penguin. Dan’s heart swells at the sheer cuteness and he forgets to wipe the tear away when Phil looks over and smiles, eyes brimming with happiness. 

Dan manages to take some pictures and spends the rest of the time coming to terms with his experience (and trying to find his penguin in the crowd, though shamefully he loses him.) But before he's come to terms with anything they’re packing up, saying goodbye, and getting back on the snowmobiles.

“Do you wanna drive this time?”

“Me?! I don’t know how.”

Phil winks, which should be embarrassing but isn’t. “I’ll show you.”

So Dan clambers on the front and Phil fits himself behind. Leaning over, he shows Dan the controls, brushing their hands too many times for it be an accident.

“Ready?” Alice yells and Dan nods. She doesn’t turn back immediately and Dan just catches sight of where her eyes were fixed: Phil’s hands, settling onto Dan’s hips. Blushing despite the literal freezing temperatures, Dan revs the engine and pulls out behind her. He’s feeling fairly confident now they’ve started and drives with ease. The only interference is the feeling of Phil’s hands on him and the anxiety of Alice having seen it. It’s been less than five minutes and the crowd of penguins can still be seen in the distance when Alice yells again.

“Go left!”

She raises her arm and gestures. Dan’s pretty sure they came from the right but will do as told. He goes to follow but his eyes slide to the right where a certain lump captures his attention. He stops suddenly.

Their bodies lurch. Phil curses and reaches to brake properly but Dan can’t look away from what he’s seen. Alice stops from in front. Dan knows why she made them turn; on the right path is a lump of a penguin.

“Is he dead?” Dan breathes.

“Dan!” Alice shouts. “Don’t look! There’s nothing we can do!”

Phil’s body shifts as he turns. He draws in a breath but doesn’t exhale.

“Dan, we should go,” he mumbles quietly. Somberly. Dan’s pulse jumps.

“Is he okay?”

“Dan... Do you want me to drive?”

Dan’s hands tighten on the handles. He’s about to repeat his question when he hears a squawk. It’s not a penguin squawk. It all happens in one moment: Dan sees the bird circling above, he sees the little penguin lump nudge forward on the snow, he sees the bird dive.

Phil’s hands grab him and turns his head away. He hugs tightly from behind, arms looping around closer as Dan begins to cry. He can’t exactly hear what’s happening but he can imagine it. Everything is too close: the thudding of his heart, the weight of their breath, the sweat clammy on his skin. His breath shudders as he inhales, his nose snotty. Soon it’s too silent. Dan’s heart caves.

Breaking gently from Phil’s arms, he looks again. The penguin and bird are gone. He’d expected to see a bloody corpse but now he looks to the sky just as agitated.

“Dan... There was nothing we could do.”

“Dan? Please, don’t cry.”

“I know you wanted to save him but you couldn’t have even if you’d tried.”

The tears flood down Dan’s face, hot and hopeless. He can’t find a voice to speak even if he wanted to. Silent and numb, he extracts himself and stands on shaky legs. He can feel Phil watching him in concern and he senses the tentativeness as Phil stands too and swaps seats with him.

“Okay?” Alice shouts again. Even shouted it’s said like a sigh.

Phil turns his face and Dan drops his forehead to Phil’s back. Ever so softly, Phil reaches for Dan’s hands and brings them around to his stomach. And then, like an afterthought, he kisses Dan’s knuckle. He signals to Alice and they begin to drive. Dan keeps his head on Phil’s back even as the ground shakes them, and he keeps his eyes shut until they’re back at base. He tries not to think, but even without thinking he can’t escape the despair, the excess of feeling and the hollow beneath it all.

He feels like a child having fallen asleep in the back of the car. There’s movement and voices around him but he refuses to move himself. Phil must understand, else he’s too scared to move Dan himself. He lets them sit longer and then slowly, and in a way that makes Dan cry again, pushes his fingers to link with Dan’s hand from above. Dan can feel Phil’s stomach as he breathes, in and out. He clutches tighter, not wanting to face Phil but neither wanting to leave him. He doesn’t know how long Phil lets Dan hug him – because now they’re not driving, his arms around his middle can only be described as such – until Phil turns and whispers.

Phil walks Dan inside, takes off his gloves and coat for him, walks him back to his room. He opens Dan’s door, takes off Dan’s shoes, and Dan would be embarrassed of being taken care of like a baby or a drunk, but he’s so suddenly exhausted all he can do is sit on his bed and stare at nothing. Phil leans against the ladder, Dan’s shoes in hand. Dan hadn’t noticed Phil himself crying, but now he does; Phil leans his forehead against Dan’s knee and surreptitiously wipes his eyes. If Dan was his better self he’d place his hand in Phil’s hair, but he doesn’t even feel like a person right now. Who was that person at the start of the day? The boy so excited about life?

Dan crawls over to his pillow and sinks into the mattress. Some part of him must still be alive because his awareness of Phil standing there and the wet patch on his knee makes his heart tug. He opens his hand and reaches it through the bed frame. He really doesn’t want to be alone anyway.

The cheap bed frame squeaks and rattles as Phil lumbers onto it. It would make Dan laugh, at another time. Dan squeezes his eyes shut and hopes Phil will lie down next to him. He pleads for it silently, and thankfully Phil doesn’t even hesitate; he slots himself behind Dan immediately and like how he’d kissed his hand he now kisses the back of his neck. With gentle fingers he strokes the hair around Dan’s ear then hugs him close to his chest. Dan concentrates on Phil’s heart and focuses on syncing their breath and soon enough he slips into sleep.

When he wakes, aching and crusty, it’s dark, which means Phil has drawn the blinds. He lays there for a moment, coming back to the present and himself and trying not to think too much about the last few hours. He knows he’ll regret everything. Phil is still there hugging him, which makes Dan’s heart hurt. But his hand is looser where it holds him and Dan can hear the sounds of a phone behind him. Dan swallows and licks his lips.

“What are you doing?”

Phil jumps, and though he’s drained Dan smiles a little. Phil pauses.

“Playing Crossy Road.”

Dan wets his mouth again. He can see Phil’s camera bag on the floor below them. The reality of what he’d done is slowly seeping into his brain and he can feel the regret and embarrassment building. How Phil must be regretting ever having gotten close, of having to deal with this mess.

Dan nudges Phil’s leg.

“You can go, if you want.”

“I don’t want.”

Dan is taken aback not just by the quick response but the certainty in which Phil says it. The game’s tinny music plays between them.

“Okay,” Dan whispers. Phil’s hand flattens firmer against his chest. In another situation, Dan might have picked it up and played with Phil’s fingers.

They’re breathing together, Dan notices.

“What time is it?”

“Nine.”

“How long did I sleep?!”

Phil places his head against Dan’s back. “You needed it.”

Dan contemplates this.

“You haven’t eaten?”

Phil shakes his head. Dan kicks him and Phil laughs, which makes Dan laugh too.

“You idiot. Go eat.”

“Don’t wanna leave you.” Phil snuggles closer. Dan forgets how to breathe.

“Well...you can have my biscuits. They’re all in my suitcase.”

Phil is quiet a moment. “You haven’t eaten them?”

“I was saving them. Go, bring them up here.”

Dan hadn’t realised he was hungry until the collection of chocolate is being dropped on his bed and his stomach is practically growling. He misses Phil’s warmth but sits up, head still ducked, and crosses his legs. When Phil joins him the bed squeaks and rattles again. Dan smiles to himself, fiddling with one wrapper.

“I always read the jokes now, you know.”

Phil is quiet again, obviously watching Dan as he takes a small bite of the corner.

“You scared me, back there.”

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles, staring at the bitten chocolate. Embarrassment floods him. How is he going to meet Phil’s eyes again? The biscuit is sharp when he swallows. It drags against his insides.

“Eat one, please.”

“I feel bad.”

“Don’t.”

Dan watches Phil’s fingers as they stumble over one wrapper. It’s depressing that his depression would follow him here. He’ll have to tell Phil now, and that makes him anxious. He thinks again about how happy he’d been at the start of the day and this leads to thinking about the penguin, the one who’d approached him and the one who’d been lying, good as dead, on the side of the path. He smooths out the wrapper and looks at the cartoon on it.

“What if it was him?” He asks before he can stop himself. His voice is breathy with emotion. The tears are already behind his eyes again. Phil looks up, startled. “The penguin.” Dan tosses the wrapper between them. They both stare at the cartoon penguin now.

“It wasn’t,” Phil whispers, his own voice scratchy. “Couldn’t have been.”

Dan blinks quickly but still has to drag his palm over his eyes.

“I’m really sorry you had to witness that,” Phil says. It’s the smallest Dan has ever heard his voice. Dan nods. “It’s just- We can’t interfere.” Dan nods more. He knows. “And even if we did...that penguin, he was already gone, Dan.”

“No, he moved.”

Phil bites his lip. Both of them are looking down.

“I think he had directional insanity,” Dan sobs.

Before Dan knows it the bed sheets shift and Phil is hugging him, reaching across the pile of biscuits. It’s slightly awkward but Dan loops his arms over Phil’s shoulders and lets it be. Phil rubs his back and Dan can hear Phil thinking over what to say.

“It’s unfair,” he whispers.

After a while, Dan leans back and sniffs. He presses the backs of his hands to his cheeks.

“When did Alice leave?”

Phil settles back. “Um, when we arrived and we stayed on the snowmobile... You know she’s seen so many things like that, she understands.”

Dan grabs another biscuit and tears into it. He scoffs it in three bites and licks the residue from his fingertips. It feels a little better, to eat. A desire blossoms in his chest and he doesn’t have the energy to refuse it. He’s already fucked this up, anyway. He meets Phil’s eyes. 

“Spoon me again?”

Dan watches as Phil’s face melts, eyebrows drawn with sympathy. They push the biscuits to the side and resume their previous position, except Dan changes his mind. He turns around, cradling his hands beneath his chin and presses his face resolutely into Phil’s chest. Phil gathers him close without a word. 

_Why can’t penguins fly? Because they are chocolate biscuits._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was going to end this with the kiss...but didn't feel right? So stay tuned....


End file.
